


I Only Peek When I'm Allowed

by butch_snufkin



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Flowers, Love Confessions, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21985291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butch_snufkin/pseuds/butch_snufkin
Summary: Had he truly ever disliked Roman, or was it some unknown feeling masquerading as contempt?
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 7
Kudos: 95
Collections: Sanders Sides Secret Santa 2019





	I Only Peek When I'm Allowed

Third period biology hadn't even been in session for 30 minutes when Virgil started thinking about whether or not he could use his pencil to dig a hole in the linoleum floor and crawl to freedom. The teacher (Mr. Jones or.. something or other) was drawling on about photosystems or photolysis or something, an especially dull lesson to which nobody was paying any attention, instead opting to scroll through social media feeds beneath their desk or scratch mediocre renderings of anatomically incorrect genitals into the soft wood. Practically everything in the school was rotting to pieces-especially the desks, which Virgil guessed hadn't been replaced since the whole place opened in the early 50's. He finally decided to busy himself with counting the little black dots which peppered the ceiling tiles. Honestly, what were those for? 

He had counted about 83 of them when a low thunk, thunk, thunk started up behind him. A quick glance down revealed that the kid sitting behind him was kicking the legs of their own desk. Annoying, but fairly harmless for the time being. Well, except for how it had thrown off Virgil's counting, which was nearly unforgivable. He begrudgingly started again from one, this time counting a few tiles to the left of where he had been counting before. The thunking was still loud as ever, edging into his mind and driving him absolutely loony. Apparently no one cared enough to tell the culprit to stop, so the kicking continued, a solemn drum beat to the most boring lecture imaginable.

Virgil's desk suddenly lurched forward a few inches, and he briefly worried someone behind him was trying to get his attention while he was zoned out, but it was only the thunker, beginning to kick the bottom of Virgil's desk too. The kicks scooted the desk and chair forward bit by bit, sending small taps and vibrations tittering up Virgil's spine. That was really the tipping point, and Virgil spun around in his seat to scowl at the kid. 

"Dude, do you mind?" he hissed, but only got about halfway through before the words fell flat on his tongue. It was that cheerleader, Roman, in his stupid bright red letterman jacket with PRINCE stitched in white block letters across the back. A smirk that charmed both students and teachers was parked right on his smug face with no intention of leaving anytime soon. He always looked like he was about to either burst into song or tell you about his convertible. Virgil couldn't figure which was potentially worse.

Roman gave a lazy wink, the kind that made it clear he was doing it for his own amusement and not much else. He raised a finger to his lips in an overexaggerated shush gesture. Virgil made no move back, just stared at Roman with what he hoped was an uninterested glare. He turned to face the front of the room again, assuming his point had come across clearly, when Roman tapped firmly on his shoulder. Virgil spun back around, making his best are-you-serious-right-now face. Roman leaned forward with a hand cupped dramatically over his mouth, and started to whisper something.

Something that was abruptly cut off when Mr. Something or Other snapped at the both of them to pay attention. Virgil leaned back in his chair in a way that was truly posture-wrecking and pretended to be interested in the Krebs Cycle until the teacher was satisfied and stopped watching him. He kept his gaze fixed on the digital clock on the front table and counted the minutes, ignoring several more sharp shoulder taps from Roman. 

Despite the myth, watched clocks do still work fine, and soon the bell was bursting everyone's eardrums in a declaration of five minutes of freedom until the next class began. Virgil slung his bag over his shoulder and elbowed his way through the crowd of people standing around in the hallways. Seriously, do the sports guys and fashion girls have literally anything better to do then stand right in the middle of the walkways?

After unceremoniously dumping his biology textbooks into his cluttered locker, Virgil slammed the door shut, only to be greeted by Roman, who was looming in a way that would have been creepy if he didn't look so genuinely happy. Since class had let out he'd topped off his look with a classic Santa hat laying perfectly on his curls. Virgil wondered to himself if Roman's hair was really that flawless. More likely he got up three hours early to style it like a Ken doll's. 

Virgil clicked his tongue and put on his best condescending tone. "So," he said, drawing the word out into a few more syllables than necessary. "Can I help you?" 

Roman finally took the hint to say whatever he was trying to say earlier and leaned in close again. "I've come to deliver a parcel of profound importance," he stage-whispered.

"We're in the middle of a crowded hallway. Just, ah, talk normally." 

Some of Roman's cheer melted away for a moment and he took a deep breath to compose himself, his whole body inflating as he did it. His painted-on grin returned, more sickly sweet than ever. He pulled a simple card made of plain white parchment out of nowhere and handed it to Virgil with a flourish. 

Virgil took it and gave it an unimpressed once-over. 

"No need to thank me just yet," Roman reassured coolly, then paused. After a good five seconds of silence, he continued, "Alright, you may thank me now."

Virgil could hardly believe it. What was this dude's deal, and why on earth was he suddenly Mr. Nice Guy? He sighed a bit, then nodded. "Thanks for the paper. I'm sure I'll make good use of it." He thought maybe a origami knife would be appropriate. 

"I have to insist you open it now, actually," Roman interrupted. "I get unbearable anxiety when I can't see someone's reaction." He made a shooing gesture.

Virgil considered making some quip about his own anxiety, but at the last second refrained and made himself busy with opening the card. The inside was just as plain and boring as the outside, with absolutely nothing written on it. There was, however, a small pressed rose inside. It might have been red once, but much of its pigment had dried up along with the moisture, leaving it a peaky kind of pink. 

Virgil wasn't entirely sure how to react to this. 'Do I know you' seemed a bit harsh, so he said what was possibly the next stupidest thing: "A dead rose?" 

"Aha!" Roman cried, holding a triumphant finger in the air. "Not just any dead rose, but one taken from a garden in Verona, home of Juliet and Romeo."

Virgil held the flower by the flat stub that used to be a stem and twirled it gently between his fingers. "Is picking flowers in public gardens even allowed?"

Roman laughed heartily. "I doubt it. But I didn't get caught." 

"Huh. So, uh, mind the odd question, but why are you giving me this?" 

Roman faltered a bit. A touch of pink (beyond the normal, cherubian color that was normally there) rose in his cheeks. "I saw you carrying a copy of the play script all last week and thought you might be a fan. And, well, I just happened to vacation in Italy over the break..." He trailed off, doing his best to hold his confident demeanor.

Despite it all, Virgil felt almost honored. He tried to fly pretty much under the radar at all times and counted on nobody ever noticing him, much less his choice of literature. He had, like, two friends: Patton (worked part-time in the library and hosted ASL club meetings) and Logan, who also worked part-time in the library. Logan hardly counted, though. He was Patton's boyfriend and the two were hardly ever apart. It was like friendship by default. 

Now Roman was kind of staring at him with this weird wistful look. He wasn't even making eye contact anymore, instead zoning out on something just above Virgil's head, which was admittedly about eye-level for Roman, who was somewhere around 6'1" in height. This was, in Virgil's opinion, far too tall. 6 feet was excusable, but absolutely no one needed to be taller than that (even if the added height looked fantastic on Roman). 

The bell blasted out again, and a grainy song that was old enough to be considered nostalgic but still annoying warbled over the speakers, a warning that there was only one minute left until the next class would begin. 

"I take my exit now-farewell!" Roman called out, despite Virgil only being about ten inches away. He gave a deep bow and spun on his heel, humming along with the song as he went. 

Virgil pulled the straps of his backpack tighter and gave the rose an experimental sniff. Didn't smell much like a rose or even a plant anymore, but it sure smelled perfumey. He took another whiff and realized that it smelled of Roman's cologne or deodorant or whatever it was he wore. Painfully familiar, yet not overbearing. He felt himself get hot in the neck and ears, and picked up the pace.

* * * 

"I need to see Roman Prince's check-out history." 

As soon as the final class of the day had been dismissed, Virgil bolted to the library in search of Patton, who Virgil was sure would help. He wouldn't be on shift for a few more hours, but it was worth a shot.

'He won't be on shift for a few more hours' is what Logan deadpanned from behind one of the massive monitors behind the front desk, typing furiously. Virgil didn't have much else to do in the meantime, but the nerves were getting to him and he wanted to get this done with as soon as possible before he could chicken out or do something just as cowardly.

"I need to see Roman Prince's check-out history," he repeated, drumming his fingers on the countertop and chewing his lips. 

Logan didn't even glance up. "That information isn't available to students." 

"You apparently have access to it." 

"I work here." 

It didn't look like he was doing much working. Virgil could clearly see the reflection of the computer screen in Logan's glasses, and he was pretty sure the school wasn't paying him to click cookies all day. Plus, what else would he be doing clicking the mouse that aggressively? Virgil nearly commented on this but concluded that the way to stay in Logan's in good graces was not by exposing his online gaming habits.

"I'll wait, then," he humphed and made himself uncomfortable at a table. If no one ever studied in the library, it was because the staff has chosen the worst model of chairs available. They dipped and jutted in odd places and their wheels all had to be facing the same way or else they'd snap off. No one else was in the library today, anyway. Finals were over with and the teachers were tired of grading papers, so they stopped assigning them.

It was dead quiet except for the sound of Logan clicking away and Virgil's chair squeaking as he wheeled it back and forth. He stared up at the tinsel on the walls from the last school dance and thought about Roman. The fact that Roman saw what book Virgil was reading didn't mean much-Virgil sat just ahead of him, and you're always noticing stuff about the person sitting right in front of you. On the other hand, maybe Roman was paying extra attention for laughs.

Popular kids did this sometimes: picked up a "weird" kid to be friends with as a joke for the other popular kids to be entertained by. Weird kids never lasted more than a month and inevitably got dropped like they're the foulest smelling tupperware ever found in the back of a hugh schooler's locker.

Virgil didn't know much about Roman. He didn't have much reason to be turned around in his seat all the time, did he? The only other class he saw Roman in was English, though they sat on opposite sides of the room, and Roman typically had a little gathering of theater kids and cheerleaders to coo over him constantly.

Roman never really talked in class, and Virgil certainly never conversed with him anywhere else. What was Roman even like, anyway? What did Virgil know about him, besides the fact that he'd been cast as the lead in every school theater production for the last three years? Had he just decided to hate him one day?

They had gone to the same elementary school but never had any classes together. Never had the same friend groups. Never played the same games. The only time they were ever really together was- 

Virgil sat up suddenly, a metaphorical lightbulb not just flicking on, but nearly exploding. He stood so quickly that he gave himself a head rush and Logan, who was immersed into his game, jumped about a foot into the air.

Logan muttered something under his breath-most likely some very colorful words-and shook his head. Virgil didn't hear it, he was replaying a set of memories over and over again, making sure he had it right. The gears in his brain were at full velocity and felt as if they were about to shoot out of his skull, he was thinking so hard. 

Virgil shoved his chair back under the table, his heartbeat thrumming everywhere from his fingertips to his toes. Two of the wheels broke off. By the time Logan noticed, Virgil was out the door, running to his car. 

* * *

The next day, Roman's attention was snagged by a loose paper that drifted out of the grate of his locker. He caught it in midair and side-eyed it as he twisted the lock around and opened the door. Sitting neatly on the top shelf was a small bunch of green carnations, held together by a deep purple ribbon. 

Roman's brow furrowed, and he turned to the note for some kind of explanation. In sharp messy handwriting it read: 

'Roman-  
There is no sin except stupidity. Middle school is full of sinners.'

It wasn't signed. 

Roman's gut twisted a bit-whether out of anxiety or excitement he didn't know. He recognized those words. He'd said them once, back in seventh grade, to a skinny, purple-haired kid who had the locker next to his in the boys' locker room.

On the first day of gym class the students were donning their P.E. uniforms when a boy sitting hunched on the locker room bench pointed at the massive volume of poems and things peeking out of Roman's bag and asked about it. 

"Has the author done anything cool?" the kid asked, swiping a hand through his low-hanging bangs. 

Roman thumbed through the book to find his favorite section and read aloud from it 'there is no sin except stupidity.' Roman had grinned and said, "It's only been a week since summer ended, but I can already tell this school is full of sinners." 

Lots had changed since then, and the purple dye had washed out eventually, but that face had haunted Roman for the past four years. He saw it every morning in biology, and every afternoon in English, and he saw it when he closed his eyes and when relatives poked and prodded and asked if he had a boyfriend yet. 

He realized he was gripping the carnations too tightly, and when he loosened his fist they came away crushed and bleeding.

* * * 

At lunch, Virgil sat alone on the grass beneath a huge willow tree, on which students would stick their chewed up gum and make murals until the janitors scraped it off and the cycle started again. He was not so much an outcast as someone who liked to remove himself from the crowd. No one else spent lunch on this end of the campus. It was peaceful, to just exist quietly. 

He was running his fingers over the grass when a pair of beat up sneakers appeared next to him, and Roman plopped down and crossed his legs, trying to look calm but only succeeding in making himself more nervous.

Virgil resisted grimacing and prepared himself for whatever onslaught of verbal abuse was headed his way. He sat up slightly and waited for Roman to talk, but he didn't. Roman picked a few blades of grass and twisted them around his fingers, then unwound them and twisted them up again, avoiding Virgil's eyes.

They both sat there, not knowing what to do or how to do it, not even understanding how they had come to be in each other's presence this way. They felt endlessly far from one another. Roman rocked back and forth and dropped the now crumpled blades of grass. Virgil watched them drift lifelessly to the dirt.

"Can I ask why?" Roman said softly, his words quiet but sounding all the louder to Virgil, who hunched his shoulders instinctively. Roman blinked at him, and saw once more the boy from the locker room who he had been so fascinated with, like he was an unexpected turn of events in a mystery novel. Perhaps the two of them hadn't changed so much, even after all this time. 

"I thought you'd know why," Virgil said slowly, his tongue feeling heavy and useless in his mouth, his eyeshadow too scratchy on his skin. Had he truly ever disliked Roman, or was it some unknown feeling masquerading as contempt?

"I think I do," Roman admitted, his eyes flicking back and forth from one thing to the next. They finally settled on Virgil's hand, which was still stroking the grass absentmindedly. Roman covered it with his own. "I hope so, anyway." 

Virgil tried to swallow the rocks in his throat, but they wouldn't budge. He might have been trembling a bit as he flipped his palm up and intertwined his fingers with Roman's. The sparks it sent up his arm reminded him of Roman's feet kicking his chair the day before, and instead of bursting into tears like he'd planned, he began to laugh. 

Roman squeezed his hand back and giggled, a sound at once completely foreign and completely right to Virgil. Nothing quite made sense at that moment, but they understood one another. They exchanged grins and frilly words, ones they would later think on and feel embarrassed about, but would never, ever regret.

**Author's Note:**

> i still don't understand the point of cookie clicker but i've decided that logan would definitely play it


End file.
